Half Truths
by BookkeeperThe
Summary: "That message is an echo; that's all."


**Notes: Set between Night Terrors and The Girl Who Waited. Indirect quote from Amy's Choice. One part was inspired by the beginning of The Almost People, when the ganger Doctor is having trouble with past regenerations, implying that they still exist in the Doctor's head in some distinct way and have the potential to be bothersome. Tell me what you think!**

Amy didn't stir as Rory slipped out of bed. He quietly gathered their empty teacups in the soft, dim light which the TARDIS provided. She liked it, the Doctor had said, when they cleaned up after themselves. She was, after all, a magnificent, multidimensional being, not their maid.

Then he had gone on one of those nonsensical tangents which meant he wasn't really paying attention to them anymore, but Rory had gotten the gist of it: if you wanted to be able to find the bathroom when you needed it, you shouldn't leave dirty dishes lying about. And after all that stuff with House . . . well, he was particularly keen to stay on the TARDIS's good side. He took extra care, therefore, in ridding the cups of the remaining dregs, drying them thoroughly, and placing them in the cupboard with the rest of the Doctor's mismatched dishware.

He was just turning to go back to bed when something caught his eye.

He moved to get a better look, but he hadn't been mistaken. Open on the floor, blank side down – it was the psychic paper.

Rory picked it up, intending to simply leave it on the table for the Doctor to find (it couldn't be good for the binding to leave it like that), but then he saw the words on it. Words in a strangely familiar handwriting.

_The Library.  
Come as soon as you can. x_

He paused, pondering the message. It didn't seem particularly urgent – yeah, okay, it said 'as soon as you can,' but it wasn't panicked. Not like the child's terrified plea which had been the only thing so far to make it onto the psychic paper while they were in the Time Vortex. And it was signed with a kiss, so it had to be someone who knew the Doctor, right? Not just knew him, but flirted with him.

There were only two people who fit that description, and one of them was asleep.

Blood roaring in his ears, Rory headed for the console room.

The Doctor didn't notice him right away. Rory could tell, because for a moment, leaning against the console in the unearthly light of his ship, the Doctor was still and silent and very, very old. Then Rory cleared his throat, and the Time Lord burst into action.

"Rory!" he exclaimed, spinning to face him and clapping his hands together like an enthusiastic nursery school teacher. "What are you doing up? It's not Amy, is it? Because it's your turn, you know."

It always seemed to be Rory's turn, but that wasn't the point at the moment.

"Found your psychic paper," he said, holding it up.

The Doctor faltered, but only for an instant, and then he was bounding up the stairs.

"Ah, yes, been looking everywhere for that. Must have fallen out of my pocket while I was making tea –" He reached out to take it, but Rory stepped backwards. The Doctor's façade of cheer dropped along with his hand. Rory wondered if he realized how his mask slipped when he was examining something – or, more often, someone.

"It has a message on it," Rory said.

"Time Vortex, full of stray signals. Any half-decent psychic receptacle is bound to pick up a few of them."

Rory didn't like the way the Doctor was looking at him. It was like when he had been a plastic centurion, like he was an obstacle to get around as much as an ally.

"That's not how it works," he said, hoping that he sounded more confident than he felt. "And it's signed with a kiss." He let the paper fall open in his hand. The Doctor jerked his gaze away as if the message had burned his eyes, confirming Rory's suspicions.

"It's a big Universe, Rory, and I've seen most of it! It's hardly my fault that someone has taken a liking to me." The Doctor descended the stairs as he spoke. Rory was pretty sure that his feet stayed under him the whole time, and he definitely ended up where he wanted to be, but he still looked more like he was tumbling down the stairs than walking down them. It was very, very distracting, but Rory refused to be diverted.

"Right, because no woman can resist a man in a bowtie," he said acidly, and continued before the Doctor could give voice to the indignation on his face. "I'm not stupid, Doctor. This is a message from River Song – our daughter – and you're ignoring it. Why are you ignoring it?"

"It's not from River Song," the Doctor sighed.

"It's in her handwriting!" Rory argued, his voice rising, furious at the Doctor's constant deceit, furious that he could never call him on it, furious that, despite his current physical position, he never really had the upper ground.

"You've never seen her handwriting!" the Doctor snapped, the frustration in his voice nearly matching the rage in Rory's. "She doesn't always write in English and she certainly doesn't think in it; all you see is the TARDIS's translation."

That . . . made sense, actually. Rory's anger began to fade, doubt trickling into his mind.

"But . . . who else would write _you_ and sign it with a kiss?"

"Oh, I don't know . . . Cleopatra, Marilyn Monroe, Jack Harkness . . . I'm nine hundred and seven, Rory. I've been around."

Rory hesitated, thrown by the obviously masculine name included in the list, the vague feeling that he had heard those words before, and the creeping sensation that he was being a bit stupid. Again.

"Okay . . ." he said, scrabbling for a foothold and trying to salvage what remained of his dignity. "But, look, whoever sent it, they're still asking for your help. You can't just ignore them."

"I didn't," said the Doctor, and in a flurry of movement which was far too controlled for someone as gangly as he was, he was up the stairs, snatching the psychic paper from Rory's hand with stinging speed, and down at the console again.

"What?" asked Rory intelligently, by now thoroughly wrong footed. He decided to give up on dignity and settle for some idea of what the hell was going on. "We'd have noticed if we'd landed; we've been awake. You can't have gone anywhere."

"Not this me, no. Different me; different time." The Doctor was avoiding his eyes, fiddling with the console. A distraction, yes, but Rory couldn't help but notice another element in the familiar action. There was a note of self-reassurance in it, like a child stroking a security blanket. Looking more closely, Rory could see the circles under the Doctor's eyes which he had been too enraged to notice earlier.

He recalled the place the psychic paper had been when he found it – against the wall, as though it had been thrown there. The Doctor never treated his things like that; not the ones he cared about. The psychic paper was almost as dear to him as his sonic. Whatever the message really meant, it must have upset the Time Lord quite badly.

"What do you mean, a different time?" he asked, in a gentler tone.

"The TARDIS is brilliant, and ancient, and very, very sexy, but she doesn't really understand linear time – mostly because time isn't actually linear, it's more a big ball of – no, shut up, go away!"

Rory jumped at the sharp rebuke, but it didn't seem to be directed at him or anything else he could see, and the Doctor continued in calmer tones before he could think what to say.

"That message is an echo; that's all. Nothing to worry about."

Rory hovered uncertainly at the top of the stairs, entirely drained of the determination he had arrived with. Something about the explanation didn't ring true, but then, that was the case with the majority of what the Doctor said. And anyway, something – maybe the Doctor's obvious exhaustion, or the defensive hunch of his back, or the rather alarming fact that he had just snapped at a voice no one else could hear – was telling Rory that this was not the time to push.

"Right, then. Sorry. Goodnight, Doctor."

"Night, Rory!"

Rory retreated, and tried to convince himself that the faint sound which followed him down the corridor was not a sob.


End file.
